


Never let the charm be broken

by LadyZephyr



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: 1920s, AU, F/F, Les années folles, there be no clones here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZephyr/pseuds/LadyZephyr
Summary: 1920s. Delphine catches sight of Cosima one night, believing it will be nothing but a brief fantasy she chooses instead to commit her likeness into fiction. A couple years later, Cosima mysteriously reappears, and choices must be made. Trying to have it both ways may destroy them both.
Relationships: Delphine Cormier/Cosima Niehaus
Comments: 30
Kudos: 55





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued - for Femslash February.

_Delphine_

_1921_

Delphine sits high in the stands observing the London ballet. Her latest _amoureux_ had brought her with him. Quite the treat, and she intends on milking every indulgence from the man before they return to Paris. She knows he is growing sick of her, albeit slowly, and can tell that his eye is beginning to wander again. But no matter, there will be another. 

She stares at the dancers. Delphine knows well that she is a great appreciator of human beauty, both male and female. And though, there are lines she will not cross. She lets herself watch the dancers. Their graceful movements, their fine strong forms. Watching, after all, won’t hurt a thing.

One, a short woman with olive skin and dark hair catches her attention. She admires her strong lean musculature. Lets her eyes roam across her back, her hips, her legs. Elle est _parfaite_ , Delphine decides. Even more so as she watches her dance.

“C’est qui?” Delphine hears a voice behind her ask. Another member of their party. A woman who no doubt, would soon be replacing her in Edouard’s bed.

“She’s an Americaine.” Another person answers. “Brought to London just for the ballet.”

Delphine makes no further inquiries but determines that her next novel will have ballerinas. And she will design one after the beautiful girl before her. She finds herself watching the girl through the performance and makes sure to take note of the girl’s name. _Cosima Niehaus_. Unusual enough to be remembered. She may have to make a point of watching her dance again if she gets the chance. 

A fantasy of the ballerina comes too easily. A fantasy of something she’s never actually done. Of having the dancer. Of wooing her. Possessing her. Perhaps her character will have to be her hero’s lover. 

She enjoys the show thoroughly, and afterwards lets her lover take advantage of her easy excitement. He doesn’t need to know what spurned it, only concerned with his own satisfaction in her willing arms.

She returns to Paris after a couple days, and mostly pushes the image of the dancer almost out of her mind beyond when she’s writing. Édouard moves on quickly, as expected but she isn’t saddened by his absence. Part of her wondered if she would be. For a few weeks she enjoys a peaceful existence. Letting herself have more of the craved solitude she cannot have with a lover in her life. Knowing time is short, Delphine tries to jot down enough notes to continue the story later, when she has the time and assurance of enough financial support. She attends various salons, looking for her next lover, trying to balance her desires for an attractive partner with his status, when she receives a telegram from Lille, from her maman. 

_Ton_ _papa_ _est_ _mort_. _Reviens_ _immédiatement_.

Delphine sits in silence with the telegram. This… this will change everything.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Cosima _

_ 1923 _

It was official, Cosima looked down at the ring on her finger. It was a small ruby as they’d gotten engaged in July. She was married. It was, at the very least, a good opportunity to ditch her unfortunate German surname in favour of her husband’s. She’d attempted moving to her uncle’s English surname unsuccessfully, but even that was a false name. After two years based mostly in London, it would be a welcome change. 

“Are you alright, Cosima?” Her uncle asks and all she can do is nod quickly. 

Her uncle and her husband’s aunt had been wise in introducing the two of them, Cosima decides. Both work in the arts, she as a dancer, he as an artist. She could continue to dance, they both assured her. And she fully intended to. Wherever they ended up. She likely had a good couple years left as a ballerina if she were fortunate. That is if they ever let her return now. Her inability to keep her mouth shut was a detriment to her career. But why squander the opportunity? Cosima certainly thinks she has the talent to compensate for her...rougher edges.

Her elderly uncle gently touches her elbow. Alberto was getting on in years indeed. Cosima looked her uncle over, wondering if that was how she too would begin to look as she got old. 

“Well, that’s done.” Siobhan says pleasantly. “Albert, it was a pleasure.”

“It was the right decision.” Alberto confirms. “The best thing for our kids.” He doesn’t mention, Cosima realizes, that his own health was failing. She suspects he encouraged the marriage mostly out of duty, to ensure that Cosima would be taken care of. Not that she wants taking care of. She does however, want out of her uncle’s house. Married to a sodomite, but she’ll have freedom. Real freedom for the first time in her life.

“It is.” Siobhan agrees, looking at Felix. “Now, if you’ll stay out of trouble you’ll have no problems with the law here. A society wedding would have been better, but this way we can sell it as a mad love affair.”

Cosima sighs. She had been the one refusing a larger wedding. It felt far too much like a farce. She’d only met Felix a handful of times, and they’d never even touched. 

“Her greatest fear is me being charged with gross indecency.” Felix tells his new bride without hesitation or fear. “Oscar Wilde was charged with gross indecency. I believe I’d be in good company.”

“Felix… not in public.” Albert shakes his head, his black hair speckled with grey. 

Siobhan merely purses her lips. “Whatever you do, be discreet about it. A wife won’t erase criminal charges. Only ease suspicions.”

Cosima lets her new husband lead her away somewhat awkwardly. Leaving their aunt and uncle to discuss their lodgings, or whatever it is the two want to discuss now. It was better not to draw attention, Cosima thought. A few announcements in the newspaper was sufficient. One for the engagement, another to announce the marriage. 

“And done.” Felix smiles at her. How she’d managed to find herself an appropriate marriage of convenience was a miracle. Even better, Felix was the sole heir to a small fortune. Though she suspected it would be her task to ensure they do not squander it away too quickly. Though, as she strongly doubts they will produce  _ any _ progeny, they could squander it away over the next few decades.

“Yes it is.” Cosima nods, she knows their agreement. The marriage will not be consummated. At least not any time soon. And that is fine by her. 

“Don’t worry. I have no intentions of invalidating our marriage.” Felix assures her, suddenly seeming very much his twenty-one years again. So young, Cosima muses. Then again, she is only a few years older.

“It isn’t valid.” Cosima reminds him, her voice low. 

“We can lie and say we did.” Felix reads between the lines easily. “And if you cuckold me, we’ll pass the child off as mine. I am unconcerned.”

Cosima nods. “I suppose I might… eventually.” Her proclivities aren’t public knowledge, she suspects even Aunt Siobhan doesn’t know the truth. She wonders privately if her new husband suspects.

“You know, when Aunt Siobhan told me she wanted me to marry some ballerina, I thought she’d gone mad.” Felix comments lightly as they return to his car. “I didn’t really understand what she wanted. She knows, you know. Always has.”

“My uncle has been trying to get me to agree to marry for over a year. When he told me about this… I refused for three months.” Cosima admits. “I told him I wouldn’t have a husband who’d make… demands of me.” 

“I assure you. I will have zero demands. You live as you please. As will I.” Felix tells her calmly. “I have no intention of meddling in your affairs. And I expect peaceful acceptance of mine.”

“A peaceful marriage of convenience.” Cosima agrees. For however long it remained convenient anyway. It had been discussed thoroughly. There was no reason for her to worry. 

“I think I want to go to Paris for a while.” Felix tells her flippantly as they make their way back to the car. 

“Alright.” Cosima agrees nonchalantly. She knows well Felix spends a fair bit of time there. As has she, she’s danced there in more than one performance. But her uncle is wary of the Paris Opera Ballet and its patrons. She has always been under the watchful eyes of her uncle. And it was stifling.

It will certainly be peaceful without Felix. Cosima decides. Maybe she’d have true freedom at last. Alone in the house. 

“You should come with me. Meet my Paris friends.” Felix announces.

  
“What?” This is a surprise. Cosima isn’t sure she wants to go. Why? To sit around in some apartment while her new husband enjoys a large amount of sodomy? What was the point of that?

“It would look very suspicious if I took off to Paris without my new wife.” Felix explains simply. “There will be plenty to entertain you.”

She knows what he means by this, and smiles. Her inexperience wasn’t a problem necessarily. Cosima had conducted herself the way she was expected to for her job. After all, an invert wasn’t going to be a prima ballerina if she were open about it.This marriage of means was supposed to prevent her from being exploited. Or forced to hastily marry someone unsavoury as her career soured. Cosima’s not sure how much her uncle knows about her persuasions. Or how much it truly mattered now. 

“Alright. I will require my own bedroom.” Cosima reminds him, as if she has to.

Felix laughs. “Mrs. Dawkins, you do not need to ask.”

Maybe taking time away from the ballet is worth it. Maybe a grand adventure is just what she needs. She is getting older.

“How do you feel about being married?” Cosima asks her new husband, looking him over. His lanky youthfulness. It made sense why Felix had agreed. But he hasn’t really asked her why she agreed. She was 23 years old, maybe that was it. Maybe he thought she was just desperate to be married, or after the money. It doesn’t really matter what he thinks, Cosima acknowledges. 

Felix shrugs. “Hopefully it will quell the rumours in society. And I can live a double life. Respectable married man here, and… elsewhere, otherwise. Aunt Siobhan is pleased.”

How his aunt believes he’ll get caught and charged, Cosima is unsure. 

“Anyway, you’re a dancer. I am sure you have...friends.” Felix implies.

“I… do have friends.” Cosima agrees, pointedly ignoring the implications. That was none of Felix’s concern. As he wouldn’t be in her bed he has no need to know how empty it has been. 

“As do I.” Felix tells her. “One will be spending a lot of time with us in Paris.”

“That is fine.” Cosima agrees, she lets Felix drive, taking them to her new home. Her belongings have already started being moved over.

  
The house is fine, not overly large but it has a lovely garden. It seemed a fine residence, a place where she could learn to be very happy. 

“We have only a housekeeper and a cook.” Felix tells her. “Neither reside here, my choice. I have set you up in the bedroom furthest from mine.”   
  
“Alright.” Cosima agrees, she wanders the house a little. Meeting both the cook and the housekeeper who seem to be striving to keep expressions of amusement off their faces. Perhaps Felix’s tendencies are an open secret. “Anything else I need to know?” She lets Felix lead her up the stairs, there are five rooms upstairs. More space than the two of them really need. She wonders if Aunt Siobhan still resides here, she knows she raised Felix after his parents died. Knows she is his maternal aunt. Would she have to worry about Siobhan prying into her affairs?

Noting she has been led to the largest bedroom, which is no doubt Felix’s, she stops. And looks at her new husband. “I thought you said we’d have separate rooms?” That was a part of the agreement she wasn’t going to budge on.

“You will have to stay in my room tonight.” Felix apologizes. “I want the staff to know you’ve slept here. At least once.”

  
“Alright.” Cosima nods. It makes sense. To at least make a show of having had sex with her husband. She supposes she could sleep in here one night. But she wasn’t going to make a habit of it. Despite being cleaned, the room smelled faintly like sweat and men. Not a smell she tolerated well. Felix closes the door behind him and begins rummaging around the room looking for something.   
  


“Just prick your finger with a needle. Drip a little blood on the sheets and no one’s the wiser.” Felix suggests holding up the suggested implement.

“Now?” Cosima looks at him annoyed. “Can’t I do that in the morning? Or later tonight?” Who on earth has sex in the middle of the afternoon?

“We are supposed to be having a mad love affair.” Felix shrugs. “Well… unless you want them to think I married some kind of loose woman. It was Aunt Siobhan’s idea. Just do it.”

  
“Fine.” Cosima agrees, she takes the needle and climbs on to the bed, pulling back the quilt and blankets. “Why does it have to be my blood?”

“Please…” Felix looks at her. “They’ll be looking at me. Poke yourself and bleed, just a little. Make sure my housekeeper thinks that we’ve consummated this marriage.”   
  


Cosima sighs, trying to decide where to try to draw the blood from. She pricks her thumb quickly then squeezes it. This is ridiculous. 

“Drip it lower…” Felix instructs. “Make it look realistic. You’ve got to remember. You’re not that old.”

Cosima moves her hand. She smears a little blood on the sheets. 

  
“More.” Felix suggests.

“You think there’d be that much blood?” Cosima cocks her head at him. Isn’t that excessive? Surely it wasn't as bad as all that.  


“You’re the woman, you tell me.” Felix shrugs at her, but she pricks her other thumb and repeats the process until what she thinks is a reasonable but not oversized stain.

  
“Done.” Cosima tells him. Her fake deflowering complete, she moves to the basin and washes her hands. The soap stings the small cuts but it’s fine. She knows they’ll heal just fine. Leaving barely a mark. 

“I think we’ll leave for Paris next weekend. We’ll take the train?” Felix asks politely.

“I’d like that. I would like to go to Paris.” Cosima decides aloud. Surely, she can find something to amuse herself. 


	3. Chapter 3

_ Delphine  _

_ 1923 _

She enters the salon a little later than usual, but no matter. Philippe leads her by the arm, and then wanders off to chat with friends of theirs. And she is assessing the room, unsure of what she should be tonight. Delphine the writer? Delphine the lover? She could likely find a very stimulating conversation to amuse her, but if that would anger Philippe then that was not worth it. She looks to her lover, trying to see if she can tell what he’s in the mood for. But he seems calm, relaxed. 

  
She wanders through the house, and stops behind a small crowd of party goers, all transfixed on the woman in the middle of the room.

Delphine finds she’s stunned to see a somewhat familiar form dancing in the middle of the room. No doubt she’s been asked to by one of the guests. Hair, long dark and braided, distinct from what she typically sees with the new style. The girl is a ballerina. It is easy to tell. She at first suspects the girl is the lover or mistress of one of the many men in attendance. But as the girl turns Delphine catches sight of her face. 

It is  _ the _ ballerina. Delphine realizes, and briefly stunned by the object of her one time fantasy looking back at her she takes a long sip of wine. She remembers the name,  _ Cosima Niehaus _ . 

Cosima dances, and Delphine admires the dancer’s strength, her dexterity. She tries to remain calm, to not waltz directly into her unobtainable fantasies. Decades ago, the foyer des danseuses was practically a meat market at the Paris Opera Ballet. She wonders if men still try to make young ballerinas their whores, maybe she should set her novel at the turn of the century. For a few brief moments, Delphine indulges fantasy.

When the music turns to jazz, a record put on by someone, the young woman switches quickly, falling in to dance. She is talented, Delphine enjoys watching her. And she is very pleased for this opportunity to watch her ballerina once again. Maybe she’ll finish her novel. Maybe now is that time. Utterly captivated, Delphine forgets her sometimes-lover Philippe. In fact, she finds she is forgetting him completely the longer she watches the dancer. 

“Who is she?” Philippe asks behind her, noticing that the ballerina is drawing more and more attention. Including that of his sometimes-companion. Delphine muffles a laugh at the thought, Philippe never wanted for company. 

But it is a friend of his that speaks. “That is Mrs. Dawkins. She was a ballerina. Elle est belle, non? C’est dommage que son mari n’aime pas les femmes. She is entirely wasted on him if you ask me.”

“Mrs? Mrs. Dawkins?” Delphine repeats in confused English. She remembers Felix Dawkins, the Englishman. Has seen him show up at salons every so often but she is also aware of his persuasions. He was blatantly homosexual. A wife seems to be a terrible façade. Delphine wonders briefly who would even fall for such a thing? Be part of such a farce? There must be some mistake. Maybe they were confusing her ballerina with someone else?

But she catches sight of Felix, briefly clasping the dancer’s hand. There are Englishmen, Americans… writers and artists, so many people crowded into this home. And her ballerina is the wife of a homosexual. How ridiculous. Delphine stews. That wouldn’t do for her novel, no not at all.

“That was lovely dear, thank you. Now there’s an artist friend of mine who wants to paint you.” Felix leads his wife delicately by the hand, almost as if he is afraid to touch her and Delphine stifles a laugh. 

“It was my pleasure.” Cosima speaks, gracefully curtsying in front of the large room to soft applause.

Her voice… Delphine bites her lip, is lovelier than expected. Sweet and low. She wants to approach them, such a fine woman is indeed wasted on a man like Felix Dawkins. But then again, it does leave room for her fantasies. 

“Your dancing is lovely.” Delphine manages to get out in English. “I very much enjoyed watching you.” The words are too few, too little, to encompass her feelings. Delphine chides herself internally for being presumptive, for indulging her inclinations.

“Merci.” Cosima catches hint of her accent, and thanks her in French. “Many years of study. Not much glamour in it until the end.”

“I am Delphine Cormier.” Delphine opts to introduce herself.    
  
“How do you know Frédéric?” Cosima’s pronunciation is acceptable, likely from years of ballet terms. How old is she? Delphine muses. At first, she’d thought Cosima was still a youth, but with the reveal that she’d married, Delphine was starting to reassess her hypothesis.

“He is a friend of Philippe’s… and some other friends of mine as well.” Delphine glazes it over. She doesn’t really want to speak about Frédéric. He is a fine artist, true, and he has money, but there are things he lacks. He’s never been able to hold her attention. She wouldn’t even pose for him, an added insult. Though perhaps she would bend on such a thing, Philippe wanted her to. Then again, Philippe likely wanted her to pose with Françoise, and let him observe the scene. Something she’d refuse to do, and Philippe wasn’t even truly aware of every thought that went through her head. She could only imagine his requests if he knew.

“Thank you, Madame Cormier. You’re very kind.” Cosima turns to thank her again as Felix continues leading her away. Not interested in her company, clearly. Delphine bristles. If he liked women she’d probably have more luck. But then again, getting into bed with both Cosima  _ and _ her husband isn’t something she wants either. She’s had that request before and has refused every time.

“Mademoiselle Cormier.” Delphine corrects softly, but it doesn’t matter. Cosima is already gone from her sight. But the idea of her, the fictional ballerina for her story whirs to light. Even if she wants Cosima, and she is unwilling to admit to herself if she does, she cannot possibly have her. Nor should she. She wasn’t a Liane de Pougy. She wasn’t  _ truly _ an invert. She’d never given in to such thoughts. Why would she?

“Delphine?” Philippe repeats her name seeking her attention. “Delphine?”

“Oui?” Delphine quickly switches gears, this will never do. She is getting distracted. She isn’t being attentive enough, not catering enough to Philippe and his needs. What is she doing?

“I am going home with Françoise tonight.” Philippe tells her, entirely calm. “She wishes to show me something. Some new poetry.”   
  


“D’accord.” Delphine agrees pleasantly with a smile. Her lack of jealousy likely pleased Philippe more than anything else about her. She had no qualms about him having other women. In fact, it gave her a welcome break. She didn’t need much from him, or anyone now. 

Delphine moves from room to room, seeking Cosima. She makes pleasant conversation with a few friends, avoids a few American writers purposefully. Delphine finds her laid out on the chaise, miming out some story with intense energy. And she cannot resist smiling at her. She wants to know more, wants to spend time in her company. And she shall, Delphine decides. She will find a way to be in Cosima’s company as often as possible. 

Frédéric was going to paint her. And quite likely, Cosima would be nude. Delphine finds the thought both enticing and distressing. To subject Cosima to Frédéric would be cruel, especially if the man still frequented brothels. She is all too aware of the afflictions that can be passed from one lover to another. But Cosima, dancer or otherwise, appears to be little more than a girl. She cannot let that happen.

“Cosima should have a chaperone if you’re going to paint her.” Felix jibes, clearly joking. “After all she  _ is _ a married woman.”

“I shall be her chaperone.” Delphine finds herself volunteering. After all, wasn’t that how these things were done? An older woman looking out for a younger one?

“She won’t need one.” Frederic brushes off her concern. “Cosima and I will get along just fine.”

“Oh?” Delphine slides up between them, lowering her voice and speaking very quietly. “Have you taken salvarsan yet? Or do you still suffer from the Neopolitan disease?” 

“Delphine!” Frederic chides her, but she merely looks him straight in the eyes. She has no intentions of letting him pass such a thing, or any other social disease to  _ her _ ballerina. It is kindness, Delphine decides, to warn off Cosima.

“I will pose for you.” Cosima agrees pleasantly. “But we will not be getting that close socially. Madame Cormier here can assure that.” 

Felix just giggles. Seemingly delighting in the small drama. Why had he married? Delphine wondered, she looked between the two, both still look like youths. Though, not much younger than herself. 

  
“ _ Mademoiselle _ Cormier.” Frédéric corrects her. “Delphine is not married. Nor will she ever be, I believe.”   
  


Delphine keeps her head high. She isn't an ashamed teenager anymore, and has no intention of being bullied by a refused suitor. 

“It is true, I am not married.” She repeats calmly. “But… I would still be an excellent chaperone, if you do not wish to be alone.” It should be Cosima’s choice, as much as she doesn’t want that to happen. If Cosima were seeking a lover, Delphine thinks she could make much better, and safer, choices.

“I will take the chaperone.” Cosima decides, considering for a long moment. “I am a respectable woman after all.”

Delphine smiles at her. “Good.”

This will, of course, fuel her inappropriate fantasies. Delphine acknowledges glumly. But perhaps it can also fuel her own art. To know Cosima. To see more of her. Maybe she’ll finish that novel after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Neopolitan diseases is what the French called syphilis. Salvarsan was the arsenic based treatment (which in the 20s had been around over a decade).
> 
> Woo. Historical accuracy.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Cosima _

Cosima regards her would-be chaperone with amusement. Delphine is beautiful, that is clear. Blonde hair just to her neck and curly. But not quite respectable apparently. But then again, anything goes these days. Felix had dragged her to several different salons in the last couple of weeks. She’d danced, and drawn attention that way but she certainly didn’t want attention from men. Delphine’s attention surprised her a little but Cosima couldn’t say she minded. It allowed the mind to wander pleasantly and she definitely enjoyed that. Maybe more than she'd enjoyed such fictional attentions from other ballerinas.  


And then there was Felix’s friend, Charles. The two kept each other quite entertained. So much so, that she was considering finding her own lodgings. Cosima finds she has lost sight of the two men entirely. But some space was perhaps the remedy she needed to remain in the same rooms.  


“So you are a ballerina?” Delphine prompts conversation, settling comfortably onto a couch with a glass of wine in hand. Cosima follows with her own wine, she might as well spend time with Delphine. Delphine who was so intent on either getting to know her or protecting her. Until she was sure which, she’d have to have her guard up.

“I was a ballerina.” Cosima nods. “I still would be, but the director and I had several disagreements.”

“Oh non.” Delphine shakes her head.    
  
“It’s alright. I may dance again. If not, I guess plenty of artists will paint me.” Cosima quips good-naturedly. And it’s true. She didn’t mind posing for artists, or dancing at parties. As long as no one expected her to be a Josephine Baker. She would not be dancing naked or with her breasts exposed. She wonders briefly if Frédéric wants to paint her dressed as a ballerina or nude.  


“But you’re still a girl!” Delphine shakes her head laughing at her. "You are barely more than a youth!'  


“I’m 23.” Cosima corrects her kindly. She knows she looks younger, and maybe that is why Delphine is bent on keeping her chaperoned. Either way, she cannot say she minds.

“We… we are closer in age than I thought.” Delphine speaks slowly, looking her over. “You look so young.”

“I know. An advantage for a dancer, I think.” Cosima decides aloud. “What do you do, Mademoiselle Cormier?” She wonders if she wants to know the answer, if there is any truth in the sneaking suspicion creeping up in her mind. Perhaps she should ask Felix. Maybe he knew Delphine from another trip. Then again, he spent precious little time thinking of, or speaking to, women. 

  
“I’m a writer.” Delphine tells her. “I ...I get invited to these things sometimes. I’m from Lille. I’ve been in Paris… four years now?”

“I didn’t even mean to end up in Paris.” Cosima admits with a wry smile. “I was born in the United States.”

  
“C’est loin!” Delphine remarks impressed. “And you came all the way here on your own?”

“I crossed the Atlantic many years ago with my great uncle,” Cosima explains. “He’s still in London. My new husband brought me to Paris. We’ve been spending time with artists. And I wind up getting painted. Or I will.” 

“Or you will.” Delphine grins. “I am sure you can find someone to enjoy your time with here. If that is your goal. There… are people of all persuasions..”

“I have a husband.” Cosima shrugs. She might as well try to feign propriety, see if that elicits a reaction from Delphine. Delphine who looks at her intently, like she is something new to study. And perhaps she is.

“Ah yes, but your husband… enjoys the company of gentlemen.” Delphine remarks casually.

“Does everybody know?” Cosima asks softly. Maybe there was no point pretending, at least in as far as Felix being homosexual.

  
“Most everyone in my circle would. We’ve met Felix before.” Delphine tells her kindly. “I do not think any less of you. Did you know?”

“Did I know about his persuasions?” Cosima repeats, trying to decide how much honesty to offer up in return to this relative stranger. “Yes. I did know.” Even her uncle had been aware of it.

“And you still got married?” Delphine repeats as if she’d misheard.

“Yes. We’ve been married for several long boring weeks now.” Cosima smiles, deciding nonchalance was the perfect reaction. And just a little shocking.

“Well… I.” Delphine stops regarding her intently, biting at one of her full lips. “I could keep you company.”

“That is very kind. But I’ll be fine.” Cosima brushes off the offer wondering if it is as it sounds. She is increasingly suspicious that Delphine may be a prostitute of some kind. But then why ask to chaperone for her? Why warn her away from Frédéric and his likely social disease? Why waste time with Cosima rather than pursuing the company of someone far wealthier?

“Alright.” Delphine moves to stand. “If you decide you do want me to chaperone you with Frederic let me know. I’ll… I’ll give you my address.”

“Oh I want the chaperone.” Cosima admits quickly. “I am fine with being painted, and I suspect I will not be fully clothed. But I do not want him to touch me. I don’t even want him to try.”

“I won’t let him.” Delphine tells her seriously. “I can be there the whole time. And I assure you, he will not lay a hand on you unless you want him to.”

“Good.” Cosima nods. 

“Many artists sleep with their models. Or pay them… they say a lot of the women painted by the greats were prostitutes.” Delphine is calm about the whole thing, increasing her suspicions.

“So what do you write?” Cosima asks, trying to change the subject. Try to dig a little deeper without giving everything away.

“Mysteries. Novels. But not under my own name.” Delphine stands, leaving her wine glass on the small wooden table. She rummages near the bookshelf for a minute. “Hah! I knew Frédéric has it.”

“Has what?” Cosima looks up, curious. 

Delphine places a small book in her hand. The author, according to the cover, is some man named Antoine Olivier. But Delphine seems entirely serious. “Here. This is one of mine.”

“You wrote this?” Cosima asks again, flipping the book open. She quickly reads the first couple paragraphs and then skips ahead.

“Oui. I use a man’s name. It is just...easier.” Delphine shrugs, sitting down. “And this way, I do not have to worry about embarrassing my lovers with my success. It doesn’t come back to me, or to my family at all.”

“Your lovers don’t like your writing?” Cosima takes it in quickly. Luckily, she is a fast reader.    
  
“They like it fine.” Delphine sets her chin, being firm. “And I have only one lover, Philippe Gagnon. He writes a little, but works a lot more. He enjoys the company of artists, very much.”

“How do you write this?” Cosima wonders at the death, the sheer realism of the deaths and poison. It doesn’t seem like something a woman would necessarily write. Though the emotions of the characters are intense. It seems very masculine to her, but perhaps that is unfair. Or maybe it’s just another part of the façade and Delphine is pulling her leg.

“I was a nurse during the Great War. For the last year or so, they brought women to be nurses and medics.” Delphine sighs. “It was acceptable then. My family supported it but as soon as the war was over it was once again below my station.” Delphine grits her teeth a little, frustration evident.

“You’re a nurse?” Cosima is startled. She examines the mystery in front of her, this odd, clearly educated woman who seems too straightlaced to be a free-spirited bohemian, but is clearly not someone her uncle would want her associating with either.

Delphine sober momentarily. “I was. I should have become a doctor. I wanted to then as well, but maman and papa wouldn’t allow it. So I ran away with my lover all the way to Paris.” She ends with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Cosima nods. “How long ago?”

“Five years ago. I’ve been in Paris ever since. My lover… has since moved on.” Delphine summarizes gently. “And once he did… so did I. I had to.”

Cosima swallows the implications that Delphine relies on one man and then another for financial support. Or had. “And now, you write mysteries?”   
  


“Oui. Or other genres, I am not stuck to one. And I spend time with artists and others. I find… some are generous enough to help me with my lifestyle.” Delphine smiles. “I have posed as well, but… in more of the traditional sense.”

Cosima takes the hint, and a large sip of red wine to cover her revulsion. That is disgusting, and she isn’t quite sure what to think about Delphine now. Her initial admiration, maybe even attraction, is fading a little with that particular knowledge.

“I have my own money too, of course.” Delphine is flippant about it all.

“How?” Cosima is curious now. 

“My papa died almost two years ago. I am their only surviving child. I don’t need the help I used to need.” Delphine tells her. “But they expect me to, so they give gifts. I have my own apartment. I live as I please, mostly.”

“Why not go home?” Cosima wonders. After all that, and having independent means, why is Delphine still here? 

  
“Paris is my home.” Delphine retorts. “I am free here. My mother’s continual letters to come home and manage the family businesses are not enough to draw me home.”

“Maybe I will be too.” Cosima muses, taking another sip of her wine. She finds she is growing lightheaded. She wonders briefly where Felix has gone, but decides she doesn’t really need to know. She can take care of herself. Though she has zero intention of doing so as Delphine has.

“You can be, certainly. I doubt very much your husband will mind.” Delphine giggles a little, and she suddenly seems so much younger. Cosima smiles back.

  
“Felix will not mind at all.” Cosima laughs back. “He… he has half-encouraged me to cuckold him and we’ve not been married a month.”

“Won’t you?” Delphine looks at her as if the solution is completely obvious.

“I guess so.” Cosima responds. She wonders about the likes of Natalie Barney. Other women with similar desires here. Though, she has no need of the militant non-monogamy preached by the older poet. An interesting woman, surely. But to bed one of her cast-offs? Can she hope for better as a married woman? Maybe she should just take what she can get?

“I recommend against Frédéric.” Delphine tells her calmly. “You should choose someone beautiful but kind. Someone less likely to carry an affliction.”

“Like who?” Cosima cannot stop her curiosity. What is Delphine trying to do?

Delphine bites her lip before continuing. “I have friends… there is Édouard or Roger, or …. Marcel - he is an artist as well. They are beautiful men. Gentle men.” Delphine tells her as if she’s trying to convince herself. “The latter two do not have much in the way of ...resources, but they are very handsome.”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Cosima repeats. She certainly doesn’t want that. If these men are Delphine’s castoffs or otherwise. 

“Alright. If you say so. If you change your mind, I can make the introductions.”

“I do. I do not require constant male companionship.” Cosima bristles. She doesn’t want any male companionship at all. 

The date for her posing is arranged for later in the week, and Cosima knows it’ll be an interesting experience. Delphine assures her, she will be there as well.

She makes her way home on her own, to the rooms that Felix is happily occupying. Rooms that belong to his friend. Cosima enters and catches sight of the two men, who are giddy with emotion. 

They seem, almost, in love. Cosima muses looking them over briefly before making her way to the bedroom they set aside for her. Felix is drunk and happy. His friend Charles even more so. Both are content to mostly ignore her. They kiss and grab at each other, in a state of half undress. And that is not what she wants to see.

She crawls to bed alone, pulling up the blankets. She knows well what is going on on the far side of the apartment. Men moaning. Men grunting. As they pleasure each other. 

Perhaps she should try to find her own place to stay. Cosima wonders if that would be appropriate. If Felix would foot the bill for her to have peace and quiet, as well as the independence to have her own guests. She must now, she supposes.

But when she considers the various women she’s met, Delphine’s beautiful face and lithe form come to mind too easily. She is beautiful, Cosima acknowledges to herself. But that doesn’t have to mean anything. Whatever is causing Delphine’s intent interest, she is having men. And Cosima will not tolerate that. She couldn’t. And she won’t.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for finishing this piece for femslash february. Sorry guys.

_Delphine_

  
Delphine waits at Frédéric’s, waiting for Cosima. He’s set up his studio space near the back of the house, a chaise, no doubt for Cosima to lounge on, sits in the space. A collection of papers, canvas, charcoal and oil paints fill the shelves.

“Do you want to disrobe and be in the painting as well?” Frédéric asks her casually. 

“Only if Cosima insists.” Delphine quips. “I told you, I am her chaperone.”

“So you’re here to prevent me from fucking her.”  
  


“I am here to ensure you do not force her.” Delphine retorts. “Cosima can do as she pleases.”

“Her husband doesn’t seem to care what she does.”

“Frédéric, you and I know well that Felix Dawkins has little interest in women. At all.” Delphine sighs and settles herself on the sofa.

“I will sketch her first. I’ll have to have her come back for several days. Are you sure you won’t get bored, Delphine?” Frédéric holds out his sketchbook and a box of charcoal. Seemingly trying to convince her this will not be worth her while. Delphine wonders if he still has lesions, or if that is just a nasty rumour.

“I will be fine.” Delphine tells him firmly. “I am just chaperoning.” She has purposefully dressed conservatively for this, she’s wearing a true corset for the first time in months. Partially for the look, but mostly to discourage Fred’s lechery. She looks more like her mother than she’d really intended, looks very respectable and old fashioned really.

Frédéric looks her over, a slow smile spreading across his face. “If you change your mind, you can disrobe and pose with Cosima.”

Delphine tries to suppress the flash of heat she feels at the idea of pressing her body to Cosima’s. That isn’t why she’s here. Something she won’t do, especially not to titillate Frédéric.

“Non.” She answers simply. Cosima arrives, dressed simply in a loose blouse and skirt, a cardigan thrown over her shoulders and this too, pleases her. The new look hides much of Cosima’s body. Minimizes the curve of her hips and her bust, things that will soon be revealed to her eyes.

“Hello Delphine. Fred.” Cosima greets them politely. 

“Shall we begin?” Fred asks, leading Cosima to the chaise. A three piece screen next to it. “If you want to disrobe behind it you can.”

“Alright.” Cosima agrees, oddly unphased by this. And Delphine wonders if perhaps her desire to protect Cosima is misplaced. Or perhaps as a dancer Cosima is used to dressing and undressing in front of others.

“You will be...draped.” Frederic informs her. “Otherwise you will be nude.”

“I know. Felix warned me.” Cosima nods, seemingly unbothered and yet a little shy.

Cosima slips out of her clothing wordlessly. Delphine observes Cosima as she emerges, as she alters position on the chaise, a small swath of fabric thrown across her hips, hiding her sex from view. Her underarms are shorn, as if she is still a ballerina. It surprises Delphine, but only for a moment. Her form is as fine and leanly muscled as Delphine remembers. She takes in Cosima’s breasts, small but rounded and her dusky nipples. Her olive skin is smooth and free from blemishes, aside from a small scar on her arm which is likely from smallpox vaccination. She is… perfect. 

“Are you comfortable?” Delphine asks, trying to distract herself from her thoughts. She needs to play the part she’s set for herself. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” Cosima tries to seem nonchalant but Delphine wonders if it is just an act. Or if this is something Cosima has done before. 

“Put your arm up.” Frédéric instructs, he moves closer and Cosima tenses noticeably. 

  
“You don’t have to touch her to tell her to move.” Delphine eases herself onto a nearby chair. She wonders if Cosima’s had lovers. If so, how many and when. Were they not so very different? But then why marry a sodomite? Why put oneself through that? Unless one’s lover was not an appropriate match.

Cosima moves quickly into position and Fred begins to sketch her. It is oddly stimulating, Delphine admits. But she merely makes pleasant conversation to try to distract herself.

  
“So… you were born in America?”

“Yes.” Cosima responds, trying not to move too much.

“When did you leave?” 

Cosima stops if surprised by the question. “A few years after my parents died. My uncle came to get me and we made our home on the east coast for a few years and then he brought me to Europe.”

“And it was your uncle who decided you’d be a ballerina?”

“I decided.” Cosima argues. “My uncle had that plan for me, yes. But it is more complex than that.”

“It usually is.” Delphine agrees. A young girl wouldn’t have the agency to make the choice herself. Likely a need for money as well. “How old were you when your parents died?”

“I was eight.” Cosima responds. “They were in a rail accident, I wasn’t with them.”

“Chin still please.” Frédéric requests. He clearly has no patience for Cosima’s story. He just wants her body. Maybe that makes her a little better than Fred, even if her fixation _is_ unnatural.   
  
They stop their conversation momentarily. It is inappropriate, Delphine admits, to look at Cosima the way she does. She is as bad as Fred, even if she wouldn’t act on her unnatural inclinations. She forces herself to look only at Cosima’s face.

“Who is your uncle to you?” Was he like a father? Delphine wonders. Was he more of an absent guardian? How much could she learn of Cosima from this?

“Who is he?” Cosima seems confused at the question. “He is my mother’s uncle. He was the only relative who would take me. Friends of theirs took care of me for a few months until my uncle came to get me.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Not particularly.” Cosima seems to consider. “He was always kind to me, but… I was never really free to do as I pleased. I liked ballet, and when that… when I was less in demand he decided I should marry.”

“Your uncle arranged your marriage?” Delphine repeats confused. How could a man, even an old one, be deceived by Felix? How could anyone choose that for their child or ward? It wasn’t a respectable match, assuming they were intimate, it could even put Cosima at risk of unfortunate afflictions. Then again, a man who enjoyed women wasn’t necessarily going to be any safer for her. 

“More or less.” Coisma agrees. “I consented to it.”

Fred begins to laugh, he places the charcoal down, his fingers tinged black and covered in dust. “An arranged marriage with a sodomite.”

“I knew that.” Cosima argues, setting her jaw. “It was the best option. I won’t have a husband who would make demands of me. Felix and I will live very peacefully, staying out of each other’s affairs.”

“Or his demands will be unusual.” Fred quips. “And you can let your eye wander and he will never care or notice.”

“He doesn’t notice.” Cosima repeats softly. She then stills, until the sketch is complete. Frédéric takes a quick break, going to make himself some coffee and Cosima only wraps the fabric around her to cover her flesh.

“Doesn’t he?” Delphine asks.

“I don’t think he’s spent much time looking at me at all.” Cosima shrugs. “Not as a man would, perhaps as an artist would. He was quick enough to arrange this for me. He doesn’t draw women. Imagine that!”

“I wonder why…” Delphine considers. Surely, most nudes were of women. Most models were women, lovers or wives of the artists. Or… the models were prostitutes. Felix had access to Cosima, to use for his art and it doesn’t quite make sense to her that he wouldn’t. Whatever his persuasions.

“I’m not sure.” 

“Perhaps he means for you to cuckold him, get an heir that way. Then again, you _are_ married, so perhaps your husband can manage enough to avoid suspicion.” Delphine wonders aloud. She thinks, logically, that Felix Dawkins would want some kind of heir, she was aware he had money, plenty to squander away when he was here. But then again, everything about Cosima’s marriage seemed off.   
  
Cosima’s eyes widen rapidly as she looks back. 

“What? What is it?” Maybe she was a little too bold asking. She has overstepped. It is not even as if she can use that for her fictional ballerina. No, her ballerina will not be married. That wouldn’t do.

“My marriage was never consummated.” Cosima admits softly, but she is unashamed. “It wasn’t what either of us wanted, so it didn’t happen. And it won’t. Our arrangement will remain as is.”

“Then it is not a marriage. A marriage must be consummated.” Delphine shakes her head at her. “Surely, you know this. It is the same in England? In America?” A marriage that was never consummated was no marriage at all. She was fairly sure the laws were clear on that. 

“I think so. But we didn’t. I’ve never.” Cosima drops her voice, likely to ensure Fred won’t hear them.

“Then you are not a wife.” Delphine tells Cosima decisively. Her protectiveness, it seems was at least partially warranted.

“I am.” Cosima argues. “I am married.”

“You can be a virgin or a wife, but never both.” Delphine laughs at the thought. That much she knows.

Cosima too, is bold. “And you?”

Delphine stops herself for a moment, trying to measure her response. To be as calm and nonchalant as Cosima. “Well, you can easily be neither.”

“I suppose.” Cosima agrees. “That is true. Why haven’t _you_ gotten married then?” There’s a bite in Cosima’s words. Perhaps to feel less vulnerable, possibly to feel in control. To turn the tables on her questioning. 

Delphine stops, biting at her lip. She is about to formulate some kind of answer when Fred returns, a tea cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

“Let’s try another pose. Can you stand? You were a dancer, you must be strong.”  
  
Cosima nods. “I can do it.” She pushes herself up, letting the draping fall. “Do you want me to assume a ballet pose?”

Fred walks around them, considering. “Show me something then.”

“I’m not in my shoes, but…” Cosima raises her arms, her entire body lifting her weight up onto the balls of her feet. “Like this? A releve...almost?”

  
“She’ll get sore standing like that!” Delphine objects. That seems cruel to get Cosima to hold such a position, whether or not she can. 

“I’ll be fine, Delphine.” Cosima tells her. “Let him draw. If that is what he wants.”

“Did you bring your pointe shoes?” Frederic asks all of a sudden.

“No. I didn’t realize you wanted to paint me as a ballerina. I could… next time.” Cosima is quick to respond.

“Next time.” Fred echoes her. “We’ll try a few poses today, and we’ll start the painting next time. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Very well.” Cosima agrees a little tensely. It takes Delphine a few moments to realize it is from Cosima holding her entirely body tightly in position. _Elle est forte_. Delphine thinks. A ballerina must be very strong, there was something interesting she could do with the character after all.

Fred sketches Cosima in a half dozen positions, Cosima rotates her body through first, second, third and forth positions, seemingly unphased by her nudity. Her arms too, change as Cosima calls out the positions, demonstrating to Frédéric what she can do without her pointe shoes. 

At last, Cosima lies prone, belly pressed to the chaise and Delphine cannot resist letting her eyes move over Cosima’s fine small form. Muscles relaxed, dark hair finally unbraided and down around her shoulders. Beautiful. Delphine thinks. She won’t _let_ herself think anything else. She cannot.

“Are we done for the day?” Cosima asks nonchalantly, as if she’s used to being naked.

“Almost.” Frédéric tells her. 

“I have plans as well.” Delphine decides. “When you paint her in oils, I will return to chaperone again.”

  
“If you must.” Frédéric sighs. He is disappointed, Delphine thinks. He is likely having similar thoughts. The only difference is his might actually be attainable without Delphine in the way. But she cannot allow that, especially now.

“I enjoy having Delphine here.” Cosima announces, before moving to get dressed. “She is better company than you, Fred.”

Frédéric seems a little irritated but then shrugs. “Will you be disrobing for me next time, Delphine?”

“You know my answer is still no.” Delphine shakes her head.

“You won’t?” Cosima looks to her, head peeking out from behind the curtain. 

  
“Non. I won’t.” Delphine confirms. 

Cosima looks back at her in surprise and she wonders what Cosima has been told. What Felix, who barely knows her must think of her. Either way, once Cosima has dressed, she moves to leave. No doubt to have supper and enjoy her evening. Delphine wonders what Cosima has been doing. Going to plays or shows, strolling around Paris with her invert of a husband and his latest amoureux.

She needs to leave. Delphine reminds herself. Suppressing thoughts of Cosima’s body. Cosima’s arms in graceful arches. Her mouth held tightly closed in a serene smile, every muscle tightened holding her small form in position. She won’t think of Cosima against the couch; she cannot. 

“Are you leaving or staying?” Fred asks, when she hesitates at the door watching Cosima leave. 

“I am going.” Delphine finally leaves, feeling a little flushed. A little giddy about it all. She doesn’t go home. Her own apartment can wait. She goes instead to Philippe. That is the best solution, to sate her longings elsewhere. To keep whatever desire she feels under control.

She knows she isn’t supposed to show up unannounced, but Philippe is alone, and seems happy enough to see her. Perhaps they’ll have a bath and go for supper afterwards. Maybe she’ll play the lover tonight. Be what he likes. 

  
“Delphine…” Philippe lets her in, and she tries to be more seductive.

  
“J’ai besoin de toi.” Delphine tells him simply, she grabs at him, kissing. It isn’t long before he is kissing her neck, undressing her. When she’s undressed enough, she pushes him back. He is attractive, Delphine reminds herself. He is cautious. He was an excellent choice of lover, even if she shares him with Françoise. Françoise, whose husband was an old man, and posed little threat.

She rides him on the couch, a hand pressed to his chest. She manages to satisfy her desire, and then his fairly quickly after. It will have to be enough, Delphine tells herself. She doesn’t let herself think of her ballerina anymore.

  
“What got in to you?” Philippe laughs up at her when they’re done.   
  
Delphine only giggles and smiles, playing the part. But it feels somehow empty.


	6. Chapter 6

_Cosima_

“So? How was it?” Felix asks flippantly from the couch. He is drinking wine and seeming very self satisfied. He isn’t fully clothed. His shirt is thrown beside him, still covered in bits of paint. His fingers too, are tinged red and brown and blue, as if he hasn’t even bothered to wash yet.

  
“It went fine.” Cosima mutters. It had. And having Delphine there had helped. It was far better than being naked and alone with a strange man. Delphine was intriguing, beautiful… and Cosima couldn’t deny she liked looking at her. Very much so. 

“And Delphine… she was actually there?” Felix seems curious. “I can’t imagine her being a very strict chaperone.”

“Yes.” Cosima nods. “She just tried to make sure I was comfortable.” Cosima tries to be nonchalant, as cool and unphased as possible by what she’s doing.

“She doesn’t like Fred.” Felix shrugs. “I think he’s quite talented actually. But he does mostly female nudes.”

“He only sketched me, in charcoal.” Cosima states plainly. “I’ll have to go back at least twice more I think.”

  
“That sounds about right.” Felix agrees. “I’m painting Charles. I’m almost done now. When I am done I’ll be heading back to London for a while.”

Charles, Cosima notes, is absent. At least for the time being. And maybe that’s a good thing. 

“I’ve noticed.” Cosima wants to say something else. But contents herself with sarcasm. As if she hadn’t noticed the enormous canvas in the other room, the smell of the oil pants, or the half-finished painting that made it clear Felix was painting his lover as if he were some kind of Grecian god.

“I assume Fred will be done with you by then, but if he’s not… Charles has said you can stay here an extra week or so.” Felix offers flippantly. “Do you want to go to dinner with us?”

“I guess so.” Cosima responds. It’s not as if she has anything else to do. Sit around and read Marcel Proust? At least his writing acknowledged homosexuality. But the world of female inverts was as closed off to his oddly jealous narrator as it was to her. At least for the time being. She would find a way to infiltrate those circles. To be with women like herself.

“Excellent.” Felix grins. “Have you finished Danté’s Inferno yet?”

“Yes.” Cosima tells him. Not mentioning that she’d had the book for years. She’d brought several, with intentions of reading as much as possible. Finding new things to read with her suddenly copious free time wasn’t a problem. And she could read, but finds she wants more to do. 

“Great. I’ll tell Charles he can borrow it. He’s never read it? Can you imagine?”

“He’s a musician.” Cosima shrugs. And it’s true, Charles plays several instruments, and manages to entertain himself well. She suspects he has other lovers than Felix, but what does that matter to a man? It seemed very much _laissez-faire_ in Paris so far. A city of anything goes. And yet, the thing she thought could happen so easily hadn’t yet. And instead of attracting the attentions of another woman like herself. Cosima, for whatever reason has attracted only men...and in some other fashion, the attention of Delphine Cormier.

  
“Exactly why I have made him my Apollo.” Felix announces happily. A broad smile taking up most of his face. 

“What do you know about Delphine Cormier?” Cosima asks, she figures Felix may know. 

Felix seems surprised first by the question but then answers. “She… she attaches herself to men with resources. She _is_ a writer, I do know that. Fred told me. But…I told you this already, I believe she is also a prostitute. Or something very similar at any rate.”

  
“If she’s a prostitute, why won’t she let Fred paint her?” Cosima shoots back. “Surely a prostitute wouldn’t care to say no. Posing is nothing to such women.” At least she’d assume as much. 

Felix stops as if he hadn’t considered this. “I don’t know. I have no idea.”

“Maybe she isn’t.” Cosima finishes optimistically. It certainly didn’t add up the way she first thought it would. The thought is reassuring, but she must continue to temper her own interest in Delphine. Must find a more appropriate lover, another woman like herself. 

“I really don’t know. Nor do I care.” Felix emphasizes. “I don’t paint women, and unless I did, I have no reason to be interested in Delphine.”

“Why not? You could make her your… Aphrodite.” Cosima suggests wildly, working off Felix’s theme. “Finish your pantheon.” The irony of casting Delphine in such a role doesn’t go unnoticed and Felix laughs loudly. 

“A whole pantheon...perhaps,” Felix responds casually once he’s recovered from his laughing fit. “Maybe I will.”

“You should.” Cosima urges him. Why shouldn’t Felix paint women as well? She suspects women would enjoy the lack of expectations from a homosexual. Though, she anticipated most models would be prostitutes. Maybe Felix should branch out, from what she’s seen he’s certainly talented enough.

“And what about you, wife?” Felix teases her.

“I don’t think you really care to paint me.” Cosima laughs. “Even if I can hold strange poses.”

“What did Fred make you do?”

“Some ballet positions. Some reclining. I should have brought my shoes.” Cosima tries to sound casual. It wasn’t anything overly challenging, even if her muscles were slightly sore from the strain after weeks without intense activity. She may have to dance for herself, just to maintain her physique.

“Has he tried to bed you yet? Will you do it?” Felix wonders curiously. “Fred has had a lot of women… he may wear you down somehow.”

“He cannot wear me down.” Cosima is emphatic, waving her hands. “Because I won’t have him. I won’t have any man.” Maybe it’s too revealing but it’s not as if Felix has any way to look down on her. And certainly Felix has made no efforts to hide anything from her. So why should she?

Felix begins to laugh madly. “Very well then.” Felix responds finally, voice tinged with gleeful amusement.

“Two inverts.” Cosima laughs too. It’s better this way she thinks. Better that Felix knows. 

“That isn’t a problem.” Felix assures her. “I can make some introductions.”

Cosima smiles, maybe at last she’d find what she’s looking for. And get thoughts about Delphine expunged from her mind. 

* * *

Cosima laughs, drinking yet another glass of wine. Surrounded by women, that was a great improvement.

She listens to Natalie Barney read poetry, the room entirely occupied with women. Women like her. Montmartre seemed inundated with women like her and their lovers. Seems to be anyway. Cosima wonders what a life like that would be, herself and a lover sharing a home and a life. Wonders how these women support themselves. Wonders if she’d made a terrible mistake marrying Felix. Has she deprived herself of a life like that? One where she could have who and what she wants? Or is that merely a fantasy? Something that wouldn't be quite attainable for her.

They call themselves inverts or sapphists, or lesbians and Cosima has never felt so seen. Or as mundane as she does in this room full of women. Some wear dresses, others men’s clothes. Some are French. Others German or Austrian or English. There are even a handful of Americans.

Cosima has dressed normally, in the new style. Her youth attracts attention from women older than her and she lets them pour her more wine. Lets one or two attempt to woo her to their beds.

More excitingly, she manages to get a copy of American poetry, On a Grey Thread written by Elsa Gidlow, a sapphist like herself. Better yet, it is in English. Cosima knows the read will be far smoother and less exhausting in her native tongue. She looks forward to it, especially after the small pile of books Delphine had brought for her during her third round of posing for Fred.

She’s begun to flip through the poems, warmth rising in her when she realizes how erotic much of it is. Seeing desire like her own written down stuns her. Delights her.

“So… Cosima….” A small American blonde woman asks. “Are you really married to Felix Dawkins?”

“In name only.” Cosima quips. And she has opportunities. But when the woman has led her away from the group, when she’s begun to kiss her she thinks of Delphine. Beautiful, mysterious, intelligent Delphine. 

Shaking off her inappropriate thoughts, Cosima tries to get into it, it certainly feels far more natural than kissing a man. She smells only perfume and the somehow inoffensive scene of the woman’s sweat. She kisses her again, closing her eyes wanting to want. To be wanted. Finding that she wants more than this, that she wants to be in love, enamoured and loved in return.

Cosima semi-reluctantly breaks the kiss, well aware that she is refusing a good opportunity to learn, to finally get some experience under her belt. To learn how to love and be loved.

"What is it?" Her would-be lover questions her. Looking a little disappointed. Cosima notes the few grey hairs at her temples, that this women is at least a decade older than herself. Surely, surely this would be an OK choice. If only she could convince her body this is what she wants. To allow her curiosity to guide her, instead of her heart.

Cosima quickly invents an excuse. "I drank too much wine. My headache is terrible. I'm sorry."

"Another time then." The woman promises her. Awkwardly, Cosima finds she has forgotten her name and doesn’t want to reveal this by asking.

She walks part of the way home in the night, hopping on the metro to get back quickly, thinking of Delphine. Certainly she isn’t attracted to her, Cosima tries to convince herself. Not any more than any other beautiful woman. The lean française had been there each day, making efforts to make Cosima as comfortable as possible. Delphine who can and will talk science and literature with her. Delphine who has offered her books on anatomy, on astronomy, if Cosima wants them.

Cosima sighs. This will never do. What has gotten in to her? 

Felix is remarkably clean when she returns to Charles’s apartment. As if he’s just bathed.A large canvas displays the nude image of Felix’s clearly favoured lover. In it, Charles sits naked, exposed, and smiling with various instruments. It is nearly life sized and Cosima finds the image a little too much for her own tastes. It is realistic and detailed.

"It’s done then?" Cosima asks, quickly averting her eyes up. She has zero desire to gaze upon the male form. 

"It is done," Charles agrees from behind Felix. His curly sandy hair damp as if he too has just bathed. 

"My Apollo!" Felix announces as he sees his lover. He smiles openly, and Cosima wonders, how much this relationship means to these men. If this will be something she will continue to witness for the rest of her life. Or if it is a temporary passion. Does it truly matter? Maybe she's made a grave error refusing an interested woman's advances. She is married. Cosima reminds herself. And she should take what she can get.

"Hello." Cosima greets Charles politely, thankful that she was out during whatever transpired prior to her arrival. 

"I’ll be headed back to London in two days time. Charles has assured me you can stay here. Just until Fred finishes the painting." Felix is flippant, almost dismissive. "I suspect it'll be a couple more weeks. Unfortunately, I have a family commitment and must go."

"I guess I have to." Cosima mutters out. It’s not her first choice but it makes sense. It's not like she has anywhere else to go. She certainly doesn't wish to stay with Fred.

"I’ll leave money for your train ticket home. How was the salon?" Felix assures her before inquiring as to her evening.

  
"It was wonderful." Cosima decides. And certainly, parts of it were.

Felix shakes his head at her. "You are home pretty early for it to be wonderful. Don’t tell me you’re pining over some girl elsewhere."

She's too quick to answer, to deny anything she might be feeling. "No. of course not."

"You are." Felix sizes her up. "I think you’re pining after Delphine. You're always talking about her now. Her books. Not knowing who or what she really is."

Cosima shakes her head. "I am not."

"You wanted me to paint her as Aphrodite. And while I could, it is an unusual thing to suggest. To see Delphine as your goddess of love." Felix points out.

"Elle est belle. Mais elle est pute." Charles shrugs. He is seemingly unbothered by this, or unmoved at Cosima's wince at the words.

"She is beautiful." Cosima agrees. "But I am not going to waste my energies pining after her." She doesn't respond to the insult one way or another, it's irrelevant after all. Delphine has been nothing but kind to her.

"If you say so, Mrs. Dawkins." Felix rolls his eyes. Clearly he doesn’t believe her.

Cosima’s left wondering if she believes herself.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

_Delphine_

She’s running late, Delphine takes the métro as per usual. Unlike Philippe, she doesn’t have a car. Frédéric surely won’t begin without her. She fully expects to find them waiting on her, and she must hurry. She doesn’t trust Frédéric alone with Cosima. She’d sat down to write this morning, and her story had flowed. Her young ballerina. The sudden death of her wealthy benefactor. Her hero intent on solving the mystery. It spilled out of her easily. She’s scribbled on paper and switched to her typewriter before catching sight of the time. She had wasted too much time. She needed to get to the real Cosima.

Embarrassed, Delphine raps quickly on the door, and is let in by the housekeeper. She smiles and exchanges pleasantries, even as she slips out of her wool coat. 

Delphine continues back to the studio to find Cosima laying against the chaise, completely nude and Fred behind his easel working away with his oil paints. His shirt unfastened just at the collar as he works in his smock. Professional enough, Delphine decides.

“Hello Delphine.” Cosima greets her casually. She doesn’t press upward though. Her breasts stay pressed into the chaise, her legs up against the back of it, her feet exposed. They are dancer’s feet, Delphine acknowledges. 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Delphine apologizes quickly.

“It’s of no consequence.” Cosima brushes her off, a little acidly, leaving Delphine wondering what she’s done wrong.

“It’s fine, Delphine. Have a seat.” Fred sighs. But he’s clearly more interested in painting than he is in looking at either of them.

“Are you enjoying the books I leant you?” Delphine sits and happily leans in to talk with Cosima. This has been her favourite part of chaperoning.

“Yes. Yes. They’re fine.” Cosima responds but she seems off somehow.

“There’s… there’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Delphine asks cautiously. At any rate it seems like Cosima’s more than just annoyed at her tardiness. 

“Felix is going back to London today.” Cosima summarizes quickly. But she sounds annoyed, deeply annoyed. 

“I’ve offered for Cosima to stay here, just until the painting is complete but she refused me.” Fred comments dryly. “She’ll be staying with Charles. But she doesn’t want to put up with Charles and his friends.”

“Why don’t you stay with me? I have my own apartment. I even have a spare room.” It makes sense, Delphine decides. Surely Cosima would be safer with her. Cosima could occupy her spare room. Maybe even lend to the novel as it’s in progress. Maybe she could get Cosima’s input on the ballet, maybe she’d even dance for her.

Cosima goes quiet for a moment. The only sounds are of Fred painting, not bothered by this at all. “Yes. I will stay with you.”

“Good. Then it’s decided.” Delphine nods, pleased. “After you’re done sitting for the day, I will come with you to get your things and take you home.” The thought of having Cosima in her home pleases her. Even if it’s only for a short while.

“Yes.” Cosima nods after only a brief pause.

Fred bristles in mild irritation. “It would make more sense to stay here with me.”

“Not without a chaperone.” Cosima quips with a mischievous expression and Delphine begins to laugh madly.

Fred rolls his eyes and Delphine finds herself satisfied that while she may not be able to have Cosima, Frederic cannot either. And her fictional ballerina will be more whole because of it. 

Delphine lets herself look; at the painting more than at Cosima. As if that somehow dissipates her gaze. The image of Cosima is deeply realistic, except her feet which Delphine acknowledges are covered in healed blisters, and shaped from years of dancing in pointe shoes. The lack of attention to detail shocks her. Then again, Frederic wasn’t against painting people as they were. Beauty beside the monstrous. She’s seen his self-portrait, with its healed ulcers. He’s not one to hide things, at least on men. Women, Delphine has noticed, are glazed over, painted _sans poils_ , posed to conceal features that are unattractive. Or too obscene. 

“Don’t you think I should improve the reality?” Frederic addresses her quietly under his breath. He notices her looking and Delphine has no trouble coming up with a response for him.

“Non. She was a ballerina, and her body bears the signs of it.” Delphine responds instantly, keeping her voice low. Cosima is perfect, no matter what her feet look like. Her legs and bottom are perfect and shapely. The prone position mostly hides Cosima’s breasts, and perhaps that is by design. But she struggles to see Cosima’s body as less than perfect.

“Are you talking about my feet?” Cosima asks loudly.

“Non.” Delphine tries to lie. To spare Cosima’s feelings.

“I know very well what they look like. It’s doesn’t offend me. Years of dancing in pointe shoes has a cost.” Cosima is unphased. “Dancer’s feet, any ballerina would be the same.”

“Yes.” Delphine admits. “We are talking about your feet.”

“I’ll paint her as I see fit.” Frederic argues and Delphine is inclined to agree. He is the artist and he will mould Cosima’s image as he pleases. “I will ease over the rougher parts.” He volunteers as if this makes a difference.

“Tu es belle, Cosima.” Delphine decides to attempt reassurance. 

“Other than my feet.” Cosima quips, but remains steadfastly in position.

Delphine wants to protest, she doesn’t find Cosima’s feet ugly but she bites her tongue instead. “Is Felix happy to be going home?”

“Felix and I are barely friends.” Cosima admits. “But I think so. He said he will be back in a month or two to enjoy Paris again.”

“As he should.” Delphine nods. For men like Felix, having no sodomy laws here makes sense.

The afternoon passes pleasantly. And then Delphine walks with Cosima to Charles’s apartment. It is a nice enough walk, and they don’t need the métro.

  
“Do you have a lot of things?” Delphine asks. She suspects they will have to hire a cab, but that doesn’t sound like a terrible problem.

“Just two suitcases. And some books.” Cosima looks back at her, somehow reserved. 

Delphine helps Cosima pack, it is mostly clothes and books. But she finds Cosima’s pointe shoes, the toes heavy and packed with lambswool to cushion her feet the little bit she could. The solid construction stuns Delphine, there is no way such a thing could be comfortable.

“Is this everything?” Delphine looks at the two reasonably sized bags. It is not nearly as bad as she’d worried. A third bag had several books in it, but there was nothing the two of them couldn’t manage. Even with the stairs in her building.

“Yes.” Cosima nods, fastening the last of her suitcases. 

“I’ll get us a taxicab.” Delphine offers, quickly going to make the call. It shouldn’t be long, she’s assured.

Cosima locks up behind them and they carry her bags down to the street. It’s a decent quartier, a wealthier area than where she’s chosen to live. She hopes Cosima is content with simplicity. It’s not a long ride, and surely, this is better for Cosima than staying with Charles. Certainly Felix will not care where his wife stays, one way or another. Even if only for a couple weeks. 

  
  


But when she’s finally led Cosima up the stairs to her apartment, Cosima is smiling. There are many stairs to the third floor but Cosima doesn’t seem to mind. Not even that they carry the bags themselves. Delphine wanted Cosima to herself far more than she’d wanted to avoid physical labour.

“It’s two bedrooms, it’s simple but it’s mine.” Living modestly, after all, will preserve her funds for longer. It is safer. 

“It is lovely.” Cosima remarks as she takes in the furnishings, the arched doorways. The soft blue fabric covering the sofa. The wooden chairs. The record player, the large wooden radio. The balcony and soft light coming in through the windows. Her kitchen is smallish yes, even with the small table and chairs. But the apartment itself, Delphine thinks, is quite presentable. A typewriter sits on a small desk in a corner. A mess of papers stacked next to it. She’ll deal with her writing later. 

“I’ll show you your room.” Delphine offers, leading Cosima to the spare bedroom, nearly as large as her own with a fine double bed with a brass frame. Cosima doesn’t seem too interested in unpacking. Merely sorting some of her clothes into empty drawers.

“Do you live here alone?” Cosima is unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

  
“Yes. It is just me living here.” Delphine doesn’t elaborate that the extra room was initially intended in case her mother ever visited. It, of course, never happened. But it was a fine apartment and she had no need to relocate to a smaller one.

Cosima nods slowly as if pleased by this. “What do you like to do at home?”

“Read mostly. Or write.” Delphine acknowledges the lack of excitement in that, at least for others.  
  
Cosima flicks on the radio and settles herself comfortably on the sofa. The book she is reading is unfamiliar to Delphine. It appears to be some kind of poetry in English but Cosima is absolutely riveted by it.

  
“Is it good?”  
  


“The poetry? Yes. I haven’t been able to put it down.” Cosima doesn’t elaborate and Delphine doesn’t ask. She makes coffee wordlessly and offers Cosima a cup which she reluctantly accepts.

  
“Do you like coffee?” Delphine asks as she places a small steaming teacup next to Cosima. The motif is floral, something she thinks will put Cosima at ease. Something like she’d see in any other home.

“I prefer tea.” Cosima admits. And Delphine resolves to ensure she has some in the apartment as soon as possible. 

Delphine sips her coffee slowly. She’ll fix them something for supper. Perhaps some chicken? Or eggs? Something not too challenging. She can make Cosima happy here. She can ensure the rest of her time in Paris is as pleasant as possible. Delphine thinks of taking Cosima out to a jazz club. Or… somewhere else the two of them could huddle closely listening to music. She tries hard not to picture Cosima undressed. Not to let her old fantasy wander away with her. She must live in the real world. Must be the perfect hostess.

“What is it?” Cosima looks up at her from the table.  
  
Delphine tries to moderate her response. “I just… I just wonder what else I can show you to help you enjoy Paris. It is a beautiful city. Full of life.”

“I am enjoying it.” Cosima laughs. “But you can certainly try.

  
The early evening passes peacefully. Delphine watches Cosima reading on her sofa with a soft expression on her face. She fixes them a simple supper, and resolves to do better for tomorrow. Her heart feels full. She’s happier than she remembers being in a long time. Maybe since her happy simple childhood. 

“What is it?” Cosima looks up from her book. Looking, almost a little flushed. 

“Rien.” Delphine responds softly. She must be imagining it. After all, she knows she will only ever be able to look. And once Fred finishes his painting, it is unlikely she will ever see that much of Cosima’s skin again. She settles herself at her desk and picks up where she left off, her young ballerina, her handsome hero trying to solve the murder of her benefactor. Her hero is permitted to do what she is not. He falls in love with the ballerina. Watches her dance. Now it’s progressed to her hero wooing the slightly reluctant dancer. He kisses her lips. He makes love to her. Delphine loses herself in it for well over an hour, keys clacking frantically as she works.

When she looks up Cosima has readied herself for bed, and is regarding her in her nightgown. “Are you writing your novel again?” Cosima asks. “I know you told me you were working on something. Another mystery.”

“Yes. It has ballerinas in it.” Delphine volunteers, wondering what her muse might think of what she's writing. If Cosima might want to see it. What Cosima would think of her ink and paper doppelganger. 

“Did I inspire you?” Cosima laughs delightedly, her dark hair down around her shoulders. It reminds Delphine of earlier. Of seeing Cosima hair unbound and naked. She suppresses a shudder. Those thoughts must be confined to her writing. 

But she can answer this much. “You did.” 

“How much do you know about ballet?” Cosima asks.

“Only a little. I enjoy watching it. I do every so often. But… you are the expert between us. I am sure there is much you could teach me about being a ballerina.” Delphine admits that readily. Wondering what Cosima will show her. 

  
“Do you want me to show you?” Cosima offers.

  
“Show me what?”

“I can go dress, enough to dance… I can show you how I pad my shoes, how I get them on.”

“Oui.” Delphine sighs out her answer. “Please do. I’d love to see.”

Cosima steps out of the room but only briefly and when she returns, she is wearing only undergarments, a corselette and a slip. Her hair is braided again, back and out of the way. The intimacy of it takes Delphine back for only a moment.

  
“Here...look.” Cosima offers to her, sitting beside her She holds out her pointe shoes. “I pad them with lambswool. But… I still wrap my feet, see?” Cosima shows her, she watches Cosima put on her pointe shoes and lace them up. 

  
Cosima stands and rises up onto her toes. Cosima begins to dance, showing off. She goes through the basic positions and then begins to move, her weight is eventually supported on one shoe as she gracefully dances for Delphine. 

  
Delphine watches, wondering how she never realized how much pain and preparation goes into this. How had she admired Cosima years ago and not realized how much this was? Cosima’s face twists briefly, almost a wince as she steps down and lowers her heels. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.” Cosima admits. “You get used to it. My body… used to be very used to it. But I haven’t danced as much the last year. I ruined my career really.” Cosima settles next to her and begins to unlace her pointe shoes. 

  
“That is why your blisters are healing.” Delphine speaks aloud.

  
“Yes. A dancer who is actively dancing will have blistered. Thickened toe nails. Feet like mine.” Cosima informs her. “She won’t have beautiful feet, she may want to hide them.”

“Or she’ll show them brazenly.” Delphine mutters out. Cosima is brazen. Intelligent. Well-read. Her intellect and humour both appeal to Delphine. Maybe, maybe more than her body ever did. 

  
“Only if she’s as reckless as me.” Cosima laughs. 

“You are … charming.” Delphine tries another word. Seeing how it fits Cosima who just smiles at her.

“I am also tired. I’m going to bed now.”  
  
“Bonne nuit.” Delphine waves her off and sighs. Once the door to her own room is closed she strips off her clothes. She dresses for bed and climbs into her bed. She thinks of her ballerina, both Cosima and her fictional counterpart. And finds herself transfixed, consumed by the thought of her until sleep finally takes her. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Titled taken from one of Elsa Gidlow's poems from On a Grey Thread. (Openly lesbian poetry published in 1923... worth a look for the curious).


End file.
